


Every Move You Make

by 58srl29



Series: EBYT (RDJ) [2]
Category: Actor RPF, RPF - Fandom, Robert Downey Jr - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Iron Man 3, Marvel Universe, RDJ, RPF, Robert Downey Jr - Freeform, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/58srl29/pseuds/58srl29
Summary: A spin off of Every Breath You Take, a previous RDJ fanfic I wrote for a request someone put in.   (The old story is still ongoing.)  Due to popular demand, I decided I'm Stephanie Meyer'ing you all and pulling a Midnight Sun type ordeal...This is set on the same timeline as EBYT, so please consider reading that story first!  This is written in Robet's POV - a change up in an attempt to fill some scene gaps.  This will take place of the one shot series idea I was tossing around to fill unwritten parts.
Series: EBYT (RDJ) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797832
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own no characters or people in this story. I claim no rights to anything at all. This story is purely written for free enjoyment via popular demand of continuation of a previously requested story, and I honestly have no intel on how people act behind closed doors, either.
> 
> Background Info: Due to popular request, I found a way to fill scene gaps in EBYT (see my other RDJ if you have no read it yet, this will follow that plot). Robert's POV.
> 
> Set before Iron Man 3 was made (around 2011?). Main character is 29 - Robert is 47. Susan and family just don't exist in this plot...I don't have it in my heart to write anything bad of them. This is done upon request; I respect RDJ way too much as a person, so half of this is like altered actual books I wrote and never had printed, adjusted to characters. At this point, they are basically my own characters with his name and movie titles just to fit the request.

"You're sure you don't want security detailing you?"

It's a common question. One I've answered far too many times, but hey, who's going to listen to me? The star, the person actually potentially needing security. Don't you think I'd have some say in what happens with my day? Today, it's gonna be my call.

The car bounces over the speed humps in the entrance to the gated community; I've been here too many times to count and should probably just buy property here, but one move is enough for right now. As the back tires land back on the flat pavement, I struggle to hold my phone up and type at the same time, getting frustrated.

"Do I need to say no in another language, would that help?"

Did I need to snap? No. But I didn't sign up for this - my wonderfully generous British friend did, insisting I owe him one, but not sure when the last time he gave one was. It's a game of give and take and I appreciate him dearly, but the favors I'm handing out lately...too many to count. Did anyone show up besides the moving company to help move into the new property this week? Not yet. Granted, I'm not even fucking there, but that's what hired help is for. None of us want to be doing the heavy lifting, I guess. No, I'm not Stark when it comes to this shit.

"Just drop the bags at Gordon's, you have the key code to the garage I sent you?" I ask the driver next.

"Yes, sir," is the affirmative.

"Great..."

It's a mumble as I answer my incoming texts on my personal phone; not the promo one, didn't feel it was necessary to have Jim bring that along today.

JRich: Suck it up, buttercup.

Getting out of the house is good for you, you're becoming a hermit.

RDJ: I am no such thing.

JRich: Whatever you say.

Talk to the ladies, gotta be some good Malibu pickings there, no?

Leave it to Jimmy to have girls on the mind. Haven't cared much for them recently. Occasional one night thing, set up date to a premiere, whatever. Rehab kind of cleared that addiction out, too. Kind of. Not completely, I'm still a guy.

RDJ: And if I'm not in the mood for tits and ass tonight?

JRich: Then you give their car my address and I'll keep a light on.

RDJ: Remind me again why you didn't come with me to this oh so important event?

JRich: I don't do weddings.

Rolling my eyes, I pocket my phone in my suit jacket and prepare for my departure, small gift in hand to leave on the bride and groom's table. PR insisted. I have absolutely no idea what it is, though.

I honestly don't even know the family, outside of the parents. They're financing our Random Act fundraiser in a few days, donating more than $50,000. One conversation led to another, turns out Gordon knows them too, and now here I am, agreeing to sing one - and only one - song at the reception and show face as a thank you.

I don't mean to be negative, I just don't have the time to deal with small things like this. Smaller crowd? Yes, wonderful. More expectations? Also yes. I don't do gatherings or conventions for a reason, and this fits into that category.

Thankfully, someone's at the gate to escort me in and they take me to a quiet corner of the courtyard immediately after my entrance. My gift is handed off, someone offering to take it to the table for me, and then I'm quickly embraced in a big hug from Gordon himself, guitar in hand as he tunes it.

"Hey, buddy," I mumble into his shoulder as I pat his back in hello.

"Thrilled to have you around," he answers with a smile. "How long, again?"

"Just a couple days. Movers start tomorrow."

"Stay as long as you'd like," he offers, then a hand reaches out to his side, gesturing to a female with short hair, maybe mid sixties, and a younger girl with similar facial features in a short, white dress. "Have you met Erin?"

"Not in person, but we've talked on the phone," I muse, rolling back on my heels to offer her my hand.

To be kind, I leave a kiss on her cheek, then mimic to the girl at her side.

"This must be the blushing bride!" I celebrate, and yes, she does blush. "Congratulations."

"Sarah," she answers in a shaky voice; did she forget she married another man today? "Thank you so much for being here."

"I love weddings," I make up on the spot, glancing around, then back at Gordon. "I'm afraid I have to duck out in a few minutes, dinner plans... So, stage, left, right? How do you want to do this?"

"Our niece, Rachel, is finishing up her set," Erin tells me, to which I glance at her back; a short, dark haired girl, who looks quite out of place at the mic at the moment. "She's a fan."

Wonderful.

"A big fan," Sarah smirks. "We kind of didn't tell her you're coming, so it's a surprise."

"I thought I was doing you the favor?" I ask, eyebrow raised, but toss it aside. "She looks nervous."

"She's not a contracted singer, just a side thing," Sarah informs me.

Glancing again at the girl, I watch as she finishes quite an odd choice for a wedding reception; Love Bites by Def Leppard. 

"Sounds good, just looks nervous," I repeat, and it's true; she has a good voice, I'll give her that for now.

"Thank you,"she mutters emptily into the mic, met with a small applause.

I think her family is saying something as she makes her way off the stage, but my eyes are caught on her figure; slim, yet curvy, and that dress is hugging her in all the right ways....all the right ways. I lean slightly over to get a peek more before she disappears to a table, but have to snap my attention back when there's a hand from Gord on my shoulder.

Wishing I'd worn my dark sunglasses today instead of the clear frames, I swallow uncomfortably and run a hand through my hair. It's getting too long, I need to cut this shit off as soon as the press tour ends...

"You get into the place okay?" my friend asks, deterring the conversation.

"They're unloading my things now," I confirm. 

"You're staying in the area?" the bride's mother asks, making small talk as she gives the girl a break for a drink, I guess. "What part?"

Good thing I'm staying back here. No alcohol temptations, please. Just show up, say hello to the bride and groom, sing, then duck out and cut this thing short. Plus, I got meetings tomorrow morning and sleep sounds wonderful. At least two of those three have already been completed.

"Moving from Santa Monica to a place near Zuma," I answer, feigning a smile back. "Gonna stay with this one for a few days, need some beach air and a break."

"Oh, wonderful!" the lady celebrates, which elicits that internal siren. "We're just a couple houses down and are hosting a dinner tomorrow...why don't you two join us?"

"I'll have to check my schedule," I try to argue, but I'm cut off again.

"That sounds elegant," Gordon agrees, speaking for me with another pat to my back. "We'll be around most of the day, just talking out some ideas for some new music. Why not pop in?"

So I slap on an even wider smile and force myself to agree. "Why not?"

At that point, someone escorts the bride out to see someone or other, so I promise her a photo later on, politely saying goodbye for now. Keep a good public image, right?

A few minutes go by as I do a couple warm ups to notes Gordon plays, but I don't push it; I've never been a hardcore singer, just something fun I did a while ago. He goes over the game plan for us; basically, surprise this chick by singing the first verse instead of her, let he do Gordon's part, then have him work his way in there at the end. Double whammy. She's gonna lose her mind.

The bride is standing next to the dance floor, anticipating her dance with her new husband to this one of a kind star studded concert. My eyes scan the crowd for that familiar dress, but can't find her...until I notice someone perking up in the corner by the bar when the lights over the stage return.

She's cute. Young, but cute. Her hair's down and she's got nice posture in her seat. Whoever her friend is is nodding my direction, and for a moment, I think I'm caught staring. Just a moment, because I realize her aunt is on stage, asking her to return for one more...an encore, of sorts.

"This one," Erin, was it, speaks into the microphone in her hand, "is one of Sarah and Rachel's favorites, or so I've heard. So, as a thank you, Rach..."

She puts the microphone back into the stand as she says her name, and the sigh the girl gives in response is visible even across the yard She mouth's a 'maybe a little later?' to her, to which I simply roll my eyes.

"Doesn't look like she cares to grace us with her voice again," I state with pure snark, speaking out loud and thankful that Gordon's the only one who hears.

Despite that, the music starts, and her aunt walks back down to her husband, who is schmoozing with, by the looks of it, my buddy Tom Hanks that I should probably say hello to.

I would, but Gordon's telling me to chill side stage as he starts up, hidden, but helping the hired band play his acoustic version of Every Breath You Take. Honestly, I'm surprised anyone who hasn't watched Ally even knows this version - it was so long ago.

I can't help but smirk as I watch the girl - Rachel - scramble out of her seat, realizing the song's going whether she's ready or not. Funny, how she's rushing, even though it's not her turn to sing...

So I stretch my shoulders as the next few bars play, grabbing a mic from someone handing me one, and take a breath, pretending like it hasn't been ages since I've sang for a crowd; maybe add this to the list of things I should start doing again, I don't know.

"Every breath you take, every move you make... Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you."

Stepping up the stairs and slowly walking to center stage, I realize I have caught the attention of the entire wedding party, which kind of makes me feel like shit, given how little attention people were giving the one with actual talent just a little while ago. That feeling of guilt goes away fast, though, when she does a double take to Erin in the grass yard, realizing she's part of a set up. Okay, Sarah...you did your cousin good. At least I'm making someone happy, even if it's not myself today.

It becomes apparent that after my first verse and leading into my second, she's forgotten how to speak, so I try to play that Downey charm and pull her out of her trance.

"So, uh, you know where to fill in, right?" I ask outside of the mic, and I guess my voice is enough to make her blush, cause her cheeks turn bright ass red, even in the dim, evening light.

"Every single day, everyone word you say... Every game you play, every nigh you stay, I'll be watching you."

Please sing something, please sing something...

She blinks at me with her bright eyes; they're green, maybe? Hazel? Not as dark brown as mine. Pretty, though. Probably the highlight of her facial features, but not like anything's not good to look at. Honestly, if she wasn't so young and a fan, she might be my type. Not gonna think about it, though.

Finally, she decides to be professional and breaks eye contact, but I notice her check on her friend she was sitting with earlier, who seems to be even more of a fan girl than she is. Great.

"You're up, sweetheart," I whisper, a little edgy and irritated, but I don't mean it that way; I'm worried she needs a reminder.

Instead, I lighten my choice of words with a smirk, realizing I'm kind of being a dick today.

It must help, because she straightens her shoulders and attempts to ignore my comment. I don't miss her hands shaking over the mic, though.

"Oh can't you see," she belts out, and it's impressive. "You belong to me. My poor heart aches, with every step you take...."

Now...can she harmonize with me? Time to find out.

"Every move you make, every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you..."

And fuck me, because she doesn't disappoint. In surprise, I look directly toward her as we go through the words, and those pretty eyes are sparkling back at me as she has what is probably the same realization; our voices seem to work well together. Can she hold her big note?

"Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace. I dream at night, I can only see your face. I look around and it's you I can't replace. I feel so cold and I long for your embrace. I keep crying baby, baby, please..."

This girl gets so fucking lost in the song that she dips her head back, mic in the air, and holds that entire sixteen count note like a pro. Are they sure she hasn't been signed somewhere? There's no way she hasn't been picked up. She's got a strong as hell voice, but it's soothing, in a way. Unique.

"Impressive," I finally manage, mimicking my thoughts.

"It's not my first time," she responds coolly, and that...that takes me by surprise.

Okay, so she's got an attitude for some fucked up reason? What did I do? I thought they said she liked me? Am I being that much of an ass? Like, is it obvious I'm crabby and don't want to be here, or is she pretending she doesn't like me to make it less awkward? Or, is she just a colossal bitch? Can't be the latter...she was too nervous, both with and without me on stage. Gotta be a defense of some sort. But why?

Shaking my head, I simply hold out a hand, begging her to take charge since she's so head strong. She does as told, but dramatically. She pulls her mic from the stand and holds it, like I am with mine. Alright. I like a confident woman.

But her confidence fades when she realize's she's singing a Sting song with Sting, himself, but she doesn't really look surprised? Have they met? Probably. He lives next to her family, right? Does she live with them, though? Different house, maybe? Doesn't look like she's familiar with the celebrity Malibu status. Either way, I give them space to take charge of the stage since I'm not really needed at the moment and put on a smile for any cameras currently on us.

"Oh can't you see, you belong to me," she eventually repeats. "My poor heart aches, with every step you take..."

Okay, Downey, time to really get under her skin...

It's kind of a dick move, but her nerves are almost attractive, so I press my luck to see how she reacts as the next harmonized part arrives.

"Every move you make, every vow you break..." 

Noting she's put the mic back in the stand, I decide to invade her little personal bubble she's kept between us and share. She's fighting a blush as she focuses, but straightens her shoulders and looks ahead of her...anywhere but at me. Is she really turning this down?

"Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I'll be watching you."

My stare on her must be burning into her, because when the music starts to fade at the end and the repetitious part comes in, she boldly turns back to me.

"Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you."

So, when we aren't singing the same thing, is she going to keep up? This should be amusing. Or, it would be, if I wasn't so fucking confused by this girl. The only fan I've met who is trying to one up me, I swear...

"Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take. Every single day, every word you say, every game you play, every night you stay."

We go through it not once, but three times, before we harmonize the final note, holding out the very last part of "I'll be watching you" in a chord of three.

She looks stunned by the applause that we're met with; maybe it's me, maybe I'm used to it, I don't know. But she surely isn't, and judging by earlier, this is probably the first time her voice was given the appreciation it should have gotten at today's event.

"How about a photo, yeah?" 

There's a professional photographer at center stage which Gordon's pointing to, and on instinct, I move in for a group photo. I'm used to this, no matter who I'm standing next to. My hand finds the small of her back lightly - not too close, in case she's uncomfortable in a not so fun way. I'm still going to be respectful.

The pose holds for a moment as I glance around at the guests, who are starting to go on their way again. I recognize a few faces, maybe I'll say hi...

I think I lose my focus a little too long, cause the warmth under my hand from her small frame is suddenly gone, and she's giving Gordon all the attention.

"I've always loved your writing style," she compliments with a handshake, met with his smile and nod. "It's really such an honor to be up here singing one of your own."

Blinking, I stare at how she's holding onto his hand way too long. Who's fan are you, again? You're literally standing next to Iron Man, come on, now.

"When Erin stopped over and mentioned it, I knew I couldn't pass this up."

Good, she's letting it go.

"Always happy to meet any family of hers."

"I really appreciate it."

Okay, think of what to say. Why the hell is this difficult? It's just another girl. You talk to people literally all the time, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Shit, her aunt's coming back up. Think fast, buddy.

Lost in my own thoughts is probably not a bad thing, because she's spinning around to leave her aunt and Gordon alone and honest to God walks right into me, snapping the both of us out of our stupid trances. Did she forget I was here?

"What, no thank you for me?"

My usual charm is back, hands behind my back as I wait for a response. Surely she realizes this kind of meet up is not going to happen again and if she really wants to meet me, she's gotta do it now.

"Sorry, I guess I kinda figured you'd be gone by now."

"Gone?" 

Excuse me? What does that mean? 

She looks confused. "You did your part. Time to go, right?"

Wow, never mind. Does her aunt know she's being such a bitch? 

My temper gets the best of me and I'm about to snap back...but there's a welcomed interruption. 

Her friend comes hopping onto the stage, squealing and jumping in place when she makes it to us.

"Rach, I got it all on video!" she squeaks, and Rachel turns bright red again. "Mr Downey, oh my God...I'm-we're-such huge fans, and-"

Rachel quickly takes her friend by the hand and rushes her off the stage with a faked smile at me as a goodbye, I guess.

"Not cool, Dev!" I catch as she stomps away. "He doesn't need to know that!"

Okay, so she's definitely trying to play it cool and it's coming off the wrong way. Maybe I am, too. I'm way far out of this whole human contact thing. Let's try something different...compliment her, instead of expecting them from her about you.

Straightening out my jacket, I hop off stage and make a clear path toward the pastry table she's standing at...not, like, rushing my way over, but casually avoiding the crowds. Don't make it obvious that she's getting under your skin.

"You know, I just didn't think it'd be smart to end on such a depressing song," I try to joke, but she tenses up. "Love Bites. Kinda the opposite of what you'd want at a wedding, isn't it?"

The girl is still avoiding my eye contact and acts like it's a chore to talk to me.

"Don't ask me. It was the bride's idea."

"Right. Makes sense...sort of. I'd probably go more...Duran Duran. Or-" I begin to suggest, rambling off my own favorites, and she's quick to counter.

"Sting?" she challenges, probably thinking that was my idea, but I was brought into it as randomly as she was.

"Maybe."

Okay, so she knows my music preferences. Makes sense. She's probably done her research on the internet, like most fans do. She's letting it slip, even if she's trying to act cool.

My hands stay in my pockets, where I've left them since readjusting my jacket on my shoulders, but my eyes narrow to take her in when she finally turns to me. Her eyes are soft, but her stance says otherwise. But she's out of the spotlight, the nerves gone. Now she's just...rigid, stressed by my presence, maybe? But still pretty, and still blushing slightly as her eyes wander over me. Outside of the public spotlight and here in the corner, I can see the mischief in her eyes, the way her brain's working as she silently waits for me to react. She's a tough cookie, that's for sure.

I decide to maybe try turning Tony on, maybe that'll help. "I'm sorry, am I bothering you?"

She only calmly eats her cookie to avoid answering that, raising one eyebrow.

"Cause, you know," I go on with a hand gesture, "this whole 'keeper of silence' thing is a little unnerving."

"Am I making you nervous?"

She's suddenly bold and I like it. That fire is something I never see. It's always the blush, the soft panic of making a wrong move around me. The over the top flirting. She's a challenge.

Without thinking, I smile at that change of reaction and it feeds her confidence...now she's at least talking.

"More like...confused," I admit, deciding to be truthful and open for a second...totally unlike me.

I steal a cookie of my own from the table and munch, breaking my diet, but oh well. Time to get to the bottom of this.

"I was told you're a fan."

She blinks steadily, and it's frustrating. Just say yes. Why are you being so dramatic?

"Of course you were..." she sighs dramatically.

Ah, so I'm right! I can't help but fold my arms over my chest in satisfaction, grinning ear to ear with success.

"So...which is it?" I muse, confidence returning, myself. "Tony? Harry? Or...perhaps it's someone a little less obvious, madam?" 

I mimic my Sherly accent, which is pretty good right now since I've been prepping for press this fall.

Holy fuck, is that...a smile?! It is. And it lights up her face...much different than the hard stares I've been getting. She needs to smile more often...it's nice. I'm making progress!

"I guess you'll never know."

Her comment contradicts it, though, so I'm not sure how to respond. Instead, I change topics, try that complimenting shit I was thinking of earlier. Just...not on the smile, that'd give her the wrong impression.

"You know, I've been tossing around the idea of another album."

"Why not?" she counters. "You have a great voice."

No, no, don't compliment me!

Did I really just think that? Who am I right now? What the hell happened to my ego?

"As do you," I try, but she declines that one, too.

"Not compared to the thousands of people trying to have the same career."

"I guess..." A pause, trying again. "But how many of those thousands have sung with Sting and Robert Downey Jr and have video proof of said event?"

I don't get a response, though, because my damn phone goes off in my pocket, as it usually does every few minutes, but this one's a call from Jimmy that I've been waiting for in preparation for dinner later. Weirdly timed, right? It's what I get for befriending my teams so well...no boundaries, and clingy as hell, calling Jim and I nonstop...

"Gotta take this," I announce, to my dismay. "But hey, uh, enjoy the rest of the party."

I do catch a "it was nice meeting you..." mumbled quietly after I turn to exit the property.

It isn't snarky like everything else, it's almost sad that she cant continue our argument, finally getting the courage to actually talk to me. I do toss her a small, quick smile over my shoulder, feeling accomplished. But just like her voice...I feel a disappointment flooding me, which doesn't make sense. 

"One sec," I answer the call, knowing it's just Jim, and hide my phone against my chest as I stop by Gordon and Erin at the front gate, interrupting their conversation with a guest or two.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize, giving Erin a kiss on the cheek goodbye. "I have to step out, work beckons..."

She understands, at least. Probably because I've gotta see them at dinner.

"We'll see you tomorrow?" she reminds me, reading my mind.

Weirdly, I nod after giving Gordon a pat on the back. "I was just talking to your niece, Rachel, is it? Should I be expecting her tomorrow? I hate having to cut my conversation short with her."

Why in the ever living hell am I asking about her? Sure, we finally got along, but it's just a woman you met at a party. Like thousands of others. Why are you more focused on her than work?

"I think she'll be back in time to join us," Erin confirms, settling me down a bit. "She's going out for something or other with her friend tomorrow morning, but I'll let her know you had to leave."

"Thank you," I answer simply, not bothering to explain she already knows that part.

With a final smile for the day, I let Gordon know I'm heading to the house to change for dinner with Warner and a bunch of the Sherly execs, then bring Jimmy back to my ear.

"Talk to me," I request. "Good to go later?"

"Everything's reserved, got a car coming in an hour," my friend tells me.

"Good. Good stuff. Heading over to change."

"Again?"

"Have I ever disappointed?" I gasp in playful shock. "Hey, I gotta cancel tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Dinner plans," I state simply, punching in the gate key to Gordon's place when I wander across the street. "We'll go, uh...after the fundraiser on Sunday."

I change things on him a lot, so he isn't surprised. However...he's not stupid, either.

"I said get a one night stand, not a wife!"

"What are you talking about?!" I laugh uncomfortably, shrugging out of my jacket once I'm inside. "It's just dinner. No wives, no girlfriends...no boyfriends either. We've been over this. My situation is too fucked up for relationships."

He ignores the last part. "Who's Rachel?"

"This...incredibly beautiful pain in the ass that sang with us," I answer blankly, realizing he heard my goodbyes. "Some surprise for the bride's family, fuck if I know..."

"Oh, Jesus..." Jimmy mumbles, and I can picture the way he rubs his face with that tone over the phone.

"A little early to be moaning my name, isn't it?" I snap, ditching my Nike's for a different pair.

"You fall for this one, I'm not saving you."

I nearly choke on my own spit at that one. Love?! No.

"Not love, relax, mom. She just...irritated me. No one tells Downey no."

A snort is given in return as I glance in the mirror at myself, making sure I looked good. Couldn't be the looks, right? No. How could she not like art like this?

"What exactly did she say no to?"

"Everything. Honest to Christ, everything."

Just as irritating? The way my friend laughs at me. "I tell you no all the time, and you're never this bothered."

"You're different, my love," I try to soothe with another joke.

And it's then that I realize this girl's a puzzle, and she's not going to be easy to solve, and that's the problem. I don't like being in the dark, don't like not having the answers or the confidence to get what I want. All I know is I want to solve her, so when I figure it out, it's two birds with one stone. And yes, I will figure it out, marks my words.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Writing his attitude change in this is going to be so much fun...

Ever have one of those dreams that so fucking real, up wake up thinking it happened and then wind up thinking about it the rest of the day?

Unfortunately, that's this morning.

My dramatically over creative brain has apparently decided to fantasize over neighbor girl, which means I'm a wreck when I whine into my pillow and roll over under the blankets just as things start getting good in this so called dream. Benefits of not getting laid in weeks, I guess.

With a loud, drawn out groan, I blindly stretch out my entire body across the mattress, then grab at the bedside table in hopes of searching out my personal phone. My hand drops several times before finally bumping into it, and then I stupidly blind myself with the screen when I peek an eye open to unlock it.

I don't get notifications like most people; Jim's set it up to leave it on the press phone. My personal tab only shows the verified accounts, anyway. So it's pretty empty aside from some emails from PR pestering me about that wedding yesterday. Apparently skipping an NA meeting to sing karaoke isn't quite the image they want for me, but who the fuck really knows what I was supposed to be doing outside of the people copied to my calendar? Yeah, Jim tried to bitch at me to get my shit together, but Gordon insisted and I have no fucking house, so...

Kay, rant over. Get your ass out of bed, Downey.

It's barely light outside. Seven thirty. Wonderful.

I should shower. I should take a very long, very chilly shower after that night's sleep, but as I rub my eyes and sit up, I can hear chords being strummed on a wooden guitar from outside my window. The guest bedroom leans against the upper deck; sounds like he's up and active already.

After a quick piss in the bathroom, I grab a shirt from the dresser that I've set some shit in and run a hand through my hair to fuck with it enough to be semi presentable. Not like I need to be, but who knows what kind of people might be out on the beach getting a glimpse of the balconies in the morning. 

My frustration of my rude awakening, though my own body and mind's fault for cutting in when it shouldn't have, comes through as I head outside, though. The sliding door is a little easier to slide than anticipated, so I send it slamming against the wall a little too hard as I try to get it open. Oops.

Welp, say something that doesn't make you out to be the miserable asshole you're actually being this morning...

"You sure you only have this creative spirit when normal people aren't awake?"

Yeah, that...wasn't it.

"This is a normal hour," Gordon jokes back, stopping his quiet vocals but still strumming along.

"Not for Americans," I mumble lowly, moving toward the edge of the deck to his side to observe the ocean.

It's closer than it usually it for me; from the hills, it's pretty, but you don't quite the same effect as being directly on it. Thus why I like beach walks so much.

My forearms rest on the top of the glass walls to provide some sort of support, as I take it in - the sea breeze, the fresh air, the warmth of the rising sun...all wonderful perks of the west coast.

And then I'll be damned...as if I didn't have enough of a cock block this morning and the heavens are against me, there she is. Doing yoga as if she isn't trying to mock my interests, hanging out on the neighbor's deck.

My eyes stop to my left, watching her intently, though she's still and unaware. At least for a moment until she does a double take my way and she tries to brush it off as nothing.

I can't help but smirk, entertained at how easy it is to make these women flustered. That's the simple part. Now, getting one to stay? Don't think that's in the works for me.

She catches me daydreaming about my own deep relationship issues, because when I snap back to, I realize she's standing and quickly catches my eye again before blushing and heading inside. Did I scare her off? Cool. That's new. But I'm not surprised; she basically hated my guts yesterday, too. Some weird kind of fan...who the fuck says they like you but then act like it's a chore to interact with you?

But fuck if those hazel eyes aren't catching my interest from all the way over here. Maybe it's me; my head's not right right now. I must've over thought that shit on the phone with Jim before bed too much. Telling me I'm falling for this girl...please. Not my type. Pretty eyes, fiery spirit...just not my type. No chance I'll chase her, so he doesn't have to worry.

Thank God there's a distraction after she leaves before my brain goes back to what her lips were doing to me in that fucked up dream. Bless Gordon for speaking up again.

"Going to have to push recording to a later date," he announces, ending the picking at the guitar strings and penning something down on paper instead. "Plans changed for today."

"Plans changed, huh?" I ask dully, still staring at the spot where that girl just ran from after making eye contact. "Why, Trudy home?"

"No, she's still in New York."

"Then what's the big night got in store for you?" I follow up, and finally turn back toward my friend.

He raises an eyebrow at me, leaning on his guitar over his leg and scolding me silently. It's impressive that he can read me like that, but I just woke up and my head hasn't exactly been in the acting game lately. Sure, let's blame it on that.

"Dinner," he offers. "With the neighbors."

"Is that so?" is the best I got, trying not to sound interested.

So I change the subject quickly. The last thing I need is to play twenty questions about the girl in my dream last night, but Lord knows it's on the tip of my tongue and it's bound to happen anyhow.

"Well, I got that event tomorrow for the fundraiser, then I have to mess with the moving people the rest of the week."

"I'm headed out to London in a couple days anyhow. We can reconvene after the holidays?"

"Yeah, I'll have PR set it up on the calendar..." I agree, making a mental note to piss them off further when this whole wedding thing settles. "So what, the wedding neighbors?"

"I thought I might step in to visit since I didn't have time to see the ceremony yesterday," Gordon answers. "It's the least I can do, considering I'm hardly ever on this coast."

Thinking, I nod, but I'm silent. Silent enough to confuse him, so he extends an offer as if he's hurt me.

"You're welcome to join us, if you'd like. There's surely room at their table for an additional chair."

My eyes meet his and he's challenging me, so I roll my eyes. "Do I have to babysit that chick from yesterday?"

He blinks, face hard as he processes how rude I sound. Fuck me.

"No, but wouldn't hurt to talk to her. That video her friend took has really boosted my sales. Might be beneficial to get her on this recording, too."

"You want...to replace your own vocals?" 

"Not all of em. But if it widens the fan base, why not? More income. You like money, what's the big deal?"

Grumbling, I run a hand through my hair and try to avoid letting my mind wander back to my bed. "There isn't one. What time?"

"Seven thirty, just in time for sunset."

"Cool," I nod, swallowing down the stupid retorts. "I'm gonna go for a bike ride down Malibu and back, I think, but I'll be back in time."

"Perfect. Why not use the private road here?" he asks next, mentioning the fact that there's such little traffic on the gated community streets. 

"I, uh..." I wrack my brain, turning to go back inside and escape so I can adjust myself inside and away from prying eyes. "Not long enough. Need a good workout."

And a cold shower. Like, ice cubes. Just fuckin snow on me, please.

I gotta wait for a buddy to meet me down the street anyway - the whole not being allowed to be out alone thing has it's perks, I guess, because it's always added security. So I take my time and have a coffee first, then half burn a piece of toast by accident and force it down regardless, just so there's something in my stomach for the day. My appetite isn't quite here anymore, but it's fine.

The first half of my ride is spent avoiding paparazzi photos, which I'm used to ignoring at this point. But my attention is elsewhere, trying to focus on conversation as I strap a helmet on and crack my back in preparation. Getting old sucks, but it's not gonna slow me down.

"Have a feeling we're gonna get followed," my friend laughs, shaking his head at the camera lenses at the shopping mall across the street. "Maybe you should just drop a statement on the thing so it blows over."

"It'll blow over on it's own," I answer blankly; it was one song, what the fuck?! "Don't feel like arguing with the press right now."

"So post something online."

"And piss off Joy? Cause she's already on me about last night."

"When have you ever listened to a thing they tell you to do?" he points out, and he's not wrong.

I press my tongue against my cheek inside my mouth and give him a look, pausing for a minute after swinging my leg over my bike seat. If it stops the press, maybe it'll let my mind get past why the hell this Rachel girl has the nerve to push me aside. Show her up, right? Post something, look like the nice guy, her attitude is her problem. Then I win this imaginary war.

So I go to Twitter on my phone in my hand, standing straddling the bike, and type out a quick tweet to tag them both in so I can zip it back into my pocket and get on with this ride and my day. She's gotta have Twitter, right?

Yep. Easy to find her; it's trending.

@RobertDowneyJr: What an honor sharing the stage with this talent last night. @Rachel_Thomas @OfficialSting

Guess I'll link the video, too...

And does it help? Yes. It does.

I'm weirdly able to enjoy the rest of the day knowing I ended that small, unnecessary chapter - er, snippet? - of my life on my terms.

I finally take a shower when I get back to the house, though by then, the morning is out of my mind so the hot water is nice. I gotta shave and get this shit off my face, but I really don't feel like it. I'll just have to grow it back for these Sherlock promotions soon, anyway.

Anyway, fast forward, because the day's really just spend with that ride, a shower, and a quick phone call to sign off on some shit for the following day, despite me specifically telling them I'm using this week as vacation.

When about seven rolls around and I've filtered through several different outfits, until I'm forced into whatever I'm wearing because Gordon announces he's heading over. Guess it's a black jacket and gray tee, and dark wash jeans. Perfect, it fits my mood today - completely over dealing with other people.

Now, don't get me wrong, dealing with people is part of my job. And I love it. I just don't like having to sort a promotional tour on my vacation after being yelled at by PR for meeting fans while I'm homeless. I need to get back to filming. Back to classes. Back to my animals. Back to normalcy. 

But I'm an actor, aren't I? So a good face is easy to slap on when we're invited in, and Gordon explains he's invited me as well.

"It's not a problem at all," the woman...Erin, was it?...assures us with a grand smile, and all the while I'm just observing how their home is decorated. 

It's elegant. Neat. Lots of foreign souvenirs and art. Not as abstract and colorful as I'd decorate, but that's okay, cause it's not my house. Still homey.

"We'll set an extra place at the table outside. Jon's joining us later, and the girls are due back soon."

"Exploring Malibu?" Gordon asks her with a grin as she pours a glass of wine out in the kitchen that I've now followed them to.

"They're at Disney today, I think," she answers. "I can't keep up with their schedule. In and out all day, sometimes into the middle of the night!"

"They're young," he counters.

She offers me a glass, and I decline. Politely, of course, trying not to be as bitchy as earlier, but come on...after figuring out how to invite me to a wedding and actually getting me to show up, you think they'd do a little research on me. Guess they weren't expecting me though, so it's fine. 

"Just water is fine," I request instead.

"There's Fiji in the fridge," she tells me, perking my interest. "The spout is also filtered. Let me get you a glass..."

And so she grabs one from another cabinet and leaves me to the water on my own. Man, this whole family doesn't seem to care who I am, yet they say they're fans? All right.

"So what's Jon working on?" Gordon asks, thankfully telling me his name again without realizing it.

The woman sighs, nodding outside at the deck, and across the space to the other portion of their home. I assume that's where he's working.

"He's worried about the company with the holidays coming up," she admits, shaking her head at the whole thing. "Claims we need to invest in a charity or two more than usual this year, since they brought in more than anticipated and haven't given back to the community in a while. That's the gist of it, anyhow. There's...finer details."

"Well, that's ironic," I decide to pipe up, my mind clearing from everything else when I hear the word charity. "I'm actually hosting an event downtown tomorrow to fundraise for Random Act Funding, which actually does give back to the local community. We're always looking for investors."

"Event, huh?" she questions, wanting to know more.

So I give her a brief run down. 

"Your usual charity gala type thing. Lots of big names invited, just hoping to get some donations with a night of dinner and drinks."

"You should talk with Jon," she muses, sipping her drink. "Convince him to get out of that office, surely he'd be interested in finding out more."

Did I just gain a business partner? Cool.

"That would be great," I agree.

"You know what, why don't I go grab him?" she decides, tired of waiting for him to come down. 

"I'll come with," Gordon announces, leaving me to myself in their house as they take across the outside deck to get to the home office.

So trusting. I mean, they know my name, so it's not that weird, I suppose. And with me staying next door... At least they're kind.

I do take several moments to closely inspect the art in the kitchen to pass the time, realizing I know a few of the artists from shows and window shopping their stores over the years. I'm caught up in it and lead myself down their front hall, following a series of portraits that lead into a painted mural along the wall, a unique aspect of the house.

That's also when the lock on the front door clicks open, and to my delight, in comes the nuisance of my entire day.

"We're back!" is announced in quite a chipped tone. "Sorry we're a little late. Got caught up with Captain America and-"

Oh my Lord, could she be any more of a fan girl? Why is she trying to hide it? And the shirt. The shirt she's wearing quite boldly displays the Stark Industries logo.

I can't help but let my lip tug up with an entertained smirk, and I lean back against the mural itself without realizing it, relaxing with my glass and waiting to see how long it takes her to notice me.

Well...that's until I start running my mouth.

"Cap, huh?" I answer, acting hurt. "And to think, after all I've done for you."

She drops her bag and narrow hey eyes at me, as if it's going to hurt me or something. Her friend, thankfully, scurries on off, and then the two of us are alone. Perfect. I've caught her in her own game from yesterday. Time to get you to admit your infatuation with me, sweetheart.

"If you're referring to that tweet, I never asked you to do that," she responds coolly.

"Oh, so you did see it?"

"Were you waiting for us?" she spits back, confused as to where the rest of her family is as she glances behind me down the hall.

"Was just observing this Jensen mural," I play off, pointing at the wall I'm leaning on. "Nice shirt."

It's obvious she's forgotten what she was wearing, because she takes a breath and holds it, cracking her jaw.

But that's all I get to tease her about before the family comes back. Erin, having successfully gotten Jon out of the office, it seems, greeting their niece. 

"You're back!" Erin exclaims. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry I missed you this morning," Jon adds, kissing her on the cheek.

"I didn't know we'd be having company," Rachel comments, glaring at me again. "I still need to shower and-"

"No rush, dear," her aunt reassures. "It was a last minute invite. Gordon, here, stopped by earlier with his gift for Sarah and I just thought, why not invite him tonight?"

Jon smiles politely, despite not having a chance to say hello yet. "And Mr Downey here happens to be staying with him, so we have twice the nice company!"

"You're staying next door?" she asks, swallowing uncomfortably.

To which, for some reason, I smile, and stand tall again.

"Just a few days. Remember that album I mentioned?" I decide to go with, though it's kind of an excuse and not reality now that Gord's pushed it. "Thought we'd do some work on that until my house finalizes. I've got some time before the press tour starts."

"Oh, are you moving close by?" Erin asks.

And I decide that's enough of teasing her, so I give her a wink and go back toward the deck to speak with her and Gordon outside while Rachel goes to clean herself up.

"To the Lagoon. Not far, actually."

Jon stays with his niece, but is quick to join us after they share some words. About what, I don't know. 

But he announces his return after we share a few more back an forth comments on the area I'm moving to.

"So, Erin says you're looking for investors?" he asks, a hand to my shoulder as he comes from behind, nearly making me choke.

But I give him a good smile, I think, and be a good sport about it. And we talk. Business talk. Boring talk, and I'm not really sure what I'm even agreeing to. I think he's giving my event tomorrow an overhaul, agreeing to show up and donate and advertise if we give them sponsorship. He's also dishing out ideas on who he can ask to come, as well, that might be able to add a large amount to our total tab. He's got a good head for this. I usually do, but my mind's...on her.

Those bright red cheeks, twice now, today. But she seemed...off. Hell, I was mean, wasn't I? I was teasing her like a high school child. I already won the battle on Twitter earlier. What's my problem? 

My problem is she won't just accept that she likes me. She gave me the cold shoulder last night, and acted like I was an intruder in her house today. Have I done one single thing to upset her? No, not that I can think of. So what's with the hostility?

Eventually, she strolls back down, her friend and herself both with glasses of the same wine her family is drinking. The sun is going down when she steps out onto the deck to join us at the table, her white shirt bright against the overhead solar lights that have since flickered on with the heat lamps. And though the water is now at high tide, causing waves to splash up against the glass walls of the deck, the loudest sound in my ears all night is her voice as I try to pinpoint exactly what her reservations are.

"There you girls are!" Erin greets, serving herself some salad that was already prepped in the kitchen by the time we came over. "Grab a seat and dig in."

"Thanks," her friend answers, hungrily eyeing up the chicken that has now made its way out to us, as well.

They both sit, and my eyes are steady on the niece as she scowls at her friend for leaving her the seat across from me. How lucky am I? Seriously...am I? I can't harass her in front of her family, can I?

She doesn't talk much until her friend forces it out of her as we eat, bringing up that God damned video again.

"Since Mr Downey tweeted it today," she begins, so I finally snap, correcting her with the whole 'Mr Downey' bullshit.

"Robert's fine."

Rachel only rolls her eyes, looking miserable.

"It passed over 500,000 views a while ago," she concludes. "Probably more by now."

"And she deserves it," Sting comments, folding his hands over the table as she shoots an approving look at the girl.

Of course, he mentioned he's trying to play nice to get her to help him out with the recording, so I ignore that.

She doesn't seem to notice though; she's too focused on her phone, which lights up bright in the darkness. Kids these days...

"Excuse me..." is all she mumbles before she's gone in a whirlwind, though, and everyone can sense something's wrong.

I fold my napkin and toss it down in my lap, and her friend sighs, moving to go follow her.

"I'll check on her. There's some stuff going on at home, I think."

"Her mom?" Jon asks, but she shakes her head. "No, just mutual friends, I guess you could say."

Intrigued, my mouth moves without my realizing it. This is my chance to place her. Her walls are down.

"I can make sure she's okay," I offer, standing and raising my glass in the air. "I need a refill, anyway."

"Oh, uh...sure..." Devin, I think it was, agrees with a short nod, her lips twitching in uncertainty.

But I'm up for the challenge. I'll get my answers while I'm at it. That's if I can focus. Because with that shirt she's wearing...Lord, if her family wasn't here. Tight white tee, alone in the kitchen... Upset and needing comfort, you follow my drift.

At least, I think I'm up for the challenge...until I see how fragile she looks inside, and I instantly clear those dirty thoughts from my head. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I close the sliding door behind me, sensing the atmosphere is tense, and she jumps.

"Hey," I announce my presence, this time...soft. "You good?"

My hand rests on her back to steady her after that jump, and that is the exact moment I realize that whoever the strong willed, fired up girl was that I've been dealing with for the past twenty four hours is long gone. This girl...this girl before me is broken down, fatigued, and embarrassed. And it's upsetting.

"Yeah," she smiles back, but I know it's forced.

So I nod, going to get another bottle of Figi from the fridge to pour into the glass.

"Boyfriend?" I guess, noting what her friend said outside.

"Ex."

Hmm. Single. Not that I care. But noted.

"Ah."

Her focus shifts; I'm apparently a good distratction. "Water?"

"Been clean and sober for a while now," I answer, reading my own mind from earlier. "Or don't you know that?"

Her lips twitch and I instantly feel bad. Something's happened to the girl. Something that's caused this hostility, and me being snarky isn't helping. Wow, guess I have been an ass.

Deciding to be nice, I rest the same hand as before on her shoulder and watch her cheeks flare red again at the touch.

"You know, I happen to be a good listener."

But she refuses.

"Thank you, but...not tonight. Too long a story."

At least she's being polite and calm.

"We all have one of those. The offer stands whenever you'd like."

It confuses both of us, that offer. Will we even run into each other again? Is this my head reminding me of that dream? Reminding me of the fact that something subconscious won't let go of her?

And...she laughs. "Sorry, it's just... This is extremely weird for me."

"What is?" I ask, but honestly...I'm just glad she's finally cracked a smile in my presence.

"You. Talking to me like you care," she shoots back, crossing her arms.

So I set down my glass, realizing that I'm over playing my Stark attitude. This isn't me. Just a long week. Try to be better, Downey.

"Who says I don't?"

"Just because we sang one song together at what was basically a charity event for you doesn't mean-"

"We're friends?" I ask, and jolt back to Gordon's idea. "Well, how about this. What about business partners?"

She pauses, trying to decide if she's heard me right, I think. "What?"

"Yeah. Why don't you, uh... Well, why don't you join us? On a track? I mean, the fans love you already. Have you read the comments?"

"No," she admits, which pleases me because neither have I, I just made that up. "I've kinda been avoiding that all day."

"So I've seen," I tease, at least regarding the tweet from mid day. "Well, just think about it, okay?"

And then, I motion to her phone, waiting for her to allow me to use it to drop my number in. Fucking bad idea, but I doubt she'll ever use it with how anti Downey she is. I weirdly trust her.

"My personal, so you don't get caught up in the media bullshit," I announce as I save my contact info.

And then I bring up her camera roll, because if there is any hint of a fan left in her, a photo might make her smile...even if it's after I leave.

"Come on, selfie for the hell of it?"

"You know the word selfie?" she asks, and I gasp loudly; a joke!

"Just how old do you think I am?"

"Fine!" she laughs...this time genuine, and it's...nice.

The photo gets saved to her contacts, as well, and then I decide that's enough for right now. Don't push her. Not when she's smiling and laughing.

"Better get back out there before they start to worry. Told 'em I needed a refill...and I'd check on you."

She just spins her phone around on the counter, fidgeting with it awkwardly. "Thanks..."

Wow, a 'thank you'...

So I frown, digging in deep for some advice on my way back out, hoping she takes it.

"And if you're still debating it...don't answer him. If this is what he does to you without even being here...not worth it." 

She deserves to smile more often. It's cute.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't know at what age I've decided it's time to start calling myself 'old', but I'm feeling it more and more these days. Fucking aches in my back cause I slept shitty, my joints cracking when I get up to clear my nose and get some water to help my sore throat; thanks, body, for developing this snoring habit.

I can't even blame it on stress, you know? Right now is probably the least stressful time of my life. Yet it still feels like I'm hungover, just simply by the bullshit of life.

When morning comes, I'm knocked out in the guest bed of Gordon's beach house once again, this time sleeping well past eight. My mind's not really awake, but it quickly replays how we came back early, shortly after that girl - Rachel -decided to come back to the dinner table. 

"Well?" her aunt Erin questioned when I returned with some water, so I panic over a second about what I'm telling them.

Acting wins, so I just clear my throat and shrug as I sit back down. "Something personal. I think she's worked it out."

"Personal how?" her friend questions, but I defer again, insisting I don't know.

"Well if she told me, it wouldn't be personal, would it?" I snap back, trying to sound humorous, but honestly...go ask her yourself; I did my good deed for the week.

In her absence, the two adults decided to upscale the fuck out of tonight's fundraiser, but whatever. It means I don't need to sponsor shit myself anymore, so hey, it works out. I guess they got some ideas from grand old Gordon, who's probably out and about by now, but if I cared at all, I may have interjected. Truthfully, PR is just pushing me to do shit they can get good press on, masking any bullshit of my own personal life right now.

Which...I have to get to when it's time to yawn and check my phone.

Messages from Jimmy are fun. Sort of.

JRich: actually get your dick wet this time?

RDJ: No. Went to bed early. 

That's all I feel like answering. Why in the fuck is everyone pushing me to go fuck everything that talks to me? Sure, might've done that in the past. Learning to avoid that now.

PR is even better. There's a few emails headed from Joy. One pertains to the press tour next month. Another is a forward from legal with documents for an ad campaign that I don't remember agreeing to, but okay. The most recent is short and to the point, but there's additional documents attached that I briefly scan through.

She dropped her case, so look these over and get them back to me signed ASAP. Wrapping this disaster up. Don't screw up again.

It's fine, though. I'm used to being treated like the child. It's been this way since...forever. Honestly, they probably all expect me to be in jail again sometime soon, since I'm long overdue.

Jim's quick to answer. Must be up dealing with this shit, too, even though he's technically not PR.

JRich: it's not even a thing, stop sulking over it.

RDJ: Not sulking. Celebrating, in fact.

Not every day you find out you're not going to be a daddy.

JRich: told you she was full of shit

RDJ: Actually, I told you.

He ignores me when I get too Tony like.

JRich: find a guy if you're that worried.

RDJ: Not in the mood. Sending these docs after a swim.

JRich: don't get me bitched at if you're late later. shit's been on your calendar for weeks.

I ignore that one. It's too damn early and I need caffeine before the business talk. He's paranoid because he's not in California right now to watch my schedule, himself, so he can't tell me I can't drive myself. We all know on breaks like this, I'll drive myself.

After a couple espresso shots on Gordon's fancy machine while he's not home, I take for the board shorts I packed and change, analyzing myself in the mirror before going out into the sun. I usually don't shave, but they've been testing shit and I've had my chest waxed one too many times for anything to be growing in right now. The girls like it. So do my muscles as I flex to make sure everything's still evened out. Fuck forty eight, I still have it.

One thing I hate doing? Spraying myself down with this organic sunscreen shit that Gwyn's insisted I use. I'm not allowed to burn, even if I felt like trying, or the industry would have my head for delaying them. So, it's this oily shit or nothing. I'll shower later before getting dressed for tonight, anyway; can't go to an event smelling like ocean water and sea weed, though it wouldn't be the worst thing that I've done.

The phone goes away for the day. I don't even want it tonight, except to call for valet. I need time away from notifications and PR. Did I mention PR? I fucking hate PR.

All of this stupid tension is unwelcomed at the beginning of my day, but it is what it is. The ocean water helps, anyway. Paddle boarding was a good decision. It's quiet. No one's really in the water today, probably because my dumb ass is the only one stupid enough to brave the cold water. I need it. 

Well, that, and it's a private beach, so...yeah. So much easier for me than Zuma. Most likely no fans on this sand.

Well, except...

Except nosy little Rachel Thomas, who is apparently also taking advantage of the nice weather and laying out on the beach in front of the house next door, her friend included. Wonderful. Should I torture her some more? After last night?

She tossed shit back at me just the same when she finally did come back to dinner. But...she also gave a small wave goodbye and a slight smile, the first of her soft side showing before we had to leave. So, maybe fucking with her mentally isn't the best option anymore.

But as I leave the ocean an hour or so later and approach, she's dusting off her book, getting sand in the crevices, and hot damn can this woman sport a swimsuit. It shows off her chest nicely, but only for a second, and my lower half is thankful it isn't longer. She's hiding her flat stomach, but the jacket she shrugs on doesn't help the views, either. I accept defeat.

She does pull out her phone for a second, but only a second to take a photo of directly in front of her, and not the side angle where I'm exiting the water. Guess she isn't paying attention to the other few people on the beach, so I have an advantage to be an asshole if I want to be.

Asshole level is definitely accomplished as I forget I'm soaking wet and as I slow to a stop in front of her, water deludes her phone and catches her off guard. Either that, or the shadow I'm casting on her, blocking her from the sun.

But...she reacts poorly, even for this simple scare, and her arms shoot up in front of her face as if the sun is still in her eyes...but it's not.

"Shit, relax!" I interject, wondering why the fuck she's suddenly scared of me; what the hell did I actually do to her? 

Did I not help last night? Fucking crazy women...

"What the hell are you doing here?!" she gasps, and slowly lets her guard down.

"Sorry, next time I'll ask before gracing your beach with my presence!"

Asshole it is, considering she's no softie anymore.

Her phone catches my eye, though, and there's the familiar bold, white screen of an Instagram account loaded. Makes sense. It's probably why she was snapping photos. Guess I gotta stalk her on an app outside of Twitter now.

"Instagram, huh?"

She nods and quickly goes to close it, as if I've caught her in some horrible act. "Are you stalking me or something?"

Guilty, myself, I guess. I slick my hair back, hoping it helps the water drips, at least. And I smirk. She loves that smirk. Her cheeks give that off. Bright red, every time. Flustered. 

Or...maybe it's the fact that I'm wet and shirtless, considering her eyes are...drifting elsewhere. Good thing I didn't get too excited over her tits earlier.

"Paddle boarding," I explain and hold up the board. "Ever been?"

"Nope," she snaps quickly.

"It's more fun than sitting on your phone," I answer swiftly; so the banter begins.

Only, it has the opposite reaction, and the jacket is pulled on further, and she holds it closed in front of her. Which...makes me utter a dumbass, typical male response without thinking.

"You don't have to hide, sweetheart."

She blushes further. God, I wish I could see her eyes, but they're covered. Wonder if they're as clouded as yesterday.

"Can't you go harass your boyfriend?" comes her feisty attitude in return.

Grinning, I appreciate the reply, because at least she's talking for once.

"You know, I'm starting to miss the quiet, shy little thing I met at the wedding."

I'm really not. I liked her opening up last night. And...whatever this is.

"Yeah, well, once you get to know me..." she mutters, then smack her friend to wake her up.

She groans, but pulls down her glasses and glares at Rachel with sleepy focus. "What the hell, Rach?"

"She thinks I'm stalking her," I start off the bat.

And...fan girl number two to look me over and drop her jaw. Wonderful.

"I think you probably have better things to do than ask me about my Instagram account," Rachel argues again.

But her friend's face lights up, which is fine, but...not my type. Even if I was looking. At least Rachel might be fuckable, I don't know.

"Instagram?" she asks, interested. "I have that. I think I follow you, too!"

Okay, time to leave this conversation if it's just her friend that wants to ride my dick. Not what I was going for.

"Maybe you can show me later," I offer, but look to the water, then the house, and back at the girls. 

Rachel's jaw tenses as I flash my focus on Devin, though, so I keep playing the part, even with lack of interest.

"Up for a party tonight?"

"We're busy," comes Rachel's quick response.

"Too bad," I try to brush it off instead. "Another time, maybe."

And with that, I leave the two, but it's not hard to hear them as I walk away. They aren't the quietest.

"You and Downey..." her friend stammers, slapping that smirk back on my face for just one more moment. "I wasn't...I mean, don't you want to..."

"Nope."

She's quick to silence her friend, but she sounds tense. Maybe this is working. But what 'this' is, I'm not sure. I can't have a relationship. I can't have a relationship with a kid, at that. Holy fuck would PR kill me. First a covered up court case, then the internet claiming I'm a cradle robber? Yeah, that won't go over well with the image we've now maintained for the past few years. I'm finally back on top. Can't jeopardize shit now.

Either way, I take a nice, cold shower once I get back inside. Not like the ocean water wasn't cold enough, but God, the world keeps testing me. Two women after me, one claiming she doesn't care, but the other egging her friend on. Do they come as a packaged deal? Because it's not like I don't want them both. A threesome would be...phenomenal. It's been a while. But the friend is...loud. Rachel is not. Rachel seems to think her shit through and her voice...isn't as irritating.

It's a while before I realize the cold water on my back isn't doing shit, and I'm instead leaning against the shower wall with one hand, the other slowly stroking my cock at the thought of the two of them double teaming me. Fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with me?

Maybe Jimmy's right. Maybe it has been too long since I'd had human interaction. Or just...human touch. But it's...not a good idea anymore. So my hand has to suffice.

And it does as I close my eyes and give back in, and I hope it helps curb my irritation and dampen my agitated mood so I'm not a total dick tonight.

There's an array of thoughts, but only a few that I focus on. Rachel, last night, on the counter, like I'd briefly thought about. Only...in her bikini form today. And her friend's mouth on my neck behind me as I pretend the warmth from my hand is Rachel surrounding me. That fucking white t shirt is still on, but wet, like the shower is making my skin. And that...is all it takes.

It's quick, and then I'm feeling a bit more relaxed as I turn the heat of the water up so I'm not freezing my ass off for nothing anymore; it obviously wasn't effective, anyway. And then I rinse, shave, dry off, whatever, feeling slightly guilty for fantasizing over neighbor girl. I just needed to get it out of my system, that's all. Just kick it, get on with the next few days, and then I'll never see her again. Either of them.

Maybe.

As I answer a call from Jimmy when I start getting changed, I realize there's a notification on my phone that I missed. He is quick to alert me of it.

"Your car will be there in two hours. Get your shit together," my friend demands, though he isn't mad or anything...this is normal for us.

"Driving myself," I answer quickly, seeking out a suit from what I've packed. "Dressing myself, too, or should I ask for mommy's permission?"

"I don't think your mother even knows if you're alive," he pints out. "You should probably call her."

"Okay, dad," I decide instead. "Actually, you're not as fun as my dad. Probably safer, but at least get me high before you punish me, okay?"

"Don't forget to send PR those documents," he tells me next, ignoring my chipper mood; guess getting off didn't fix that. "And you have a message from that girl that's lighting up. Check Twitter."

"A message?" I question. "Those aren't public."

"Tweet, whatever. Just read it."

"I'll add it to my list of chores," I mumble, slightly caught off guard by how quickly Rachel's back in my life. 

A tweet, huh? Did she send it before or after that encounter? She didn't seem too please with me, so how could it be after? Had to be this morning, after I tossed mine on the bed and left it here.

"I'll be back in a few days. Need anything else this weekend?"

"Nope," I pop back, fetching a tie from the suitcase. "Moving day tomorrow."

"Fun."

"I'll deal with it. But hey, when you're back, let's go check out that new Thai place, we'll have a cheat day."

"Cheat days include you going overboard with Sifu," he points out, sounding exhausted already. 

"Right. We'll get a workout in, then splurge."

"And I'm sure Kev will be elated about that idea," he reminds me, and I briefly think about Feige being pissed if break my Marvel diet. "I'm not in the movie, I'm not doing shit. My body can't take that."

He's been interested, but not the way I am. Not to the obsessive compulsive point that I got for a while, though I've backed out a bit. I was over working my body for a long time...half for Marvel, half just because I needed a release.

"Gotta go," I announce, deciding I'm done with this conversation, too; my social level is pushing it's limits, which no one will ever really believe...but I can't do this much all the time, despite how well I pretend I can. "Don't crash the plane."

"Don't crash the car," he counters.

We both know he never actually ordered a car for me yet, so it's fine if I drive. He usually pulls that shit before he does so to double check if he needs to. I always change my mind last minute, anyway. And tonight...tonight I need to get my mind off of this shit or I'm gonna want to start drinking, which, as we all know, can't happen.

When the call ends on my phone screen, that was sitting on speaker phone on my bed while I got an outfit together, I do pick it up briefly to clear that Twitter notification.

Maybe following her back wasn't a good idea. She's going to keep talking with me now. And yeah, earlier I wanted that, but...it can't keep happening. Never mind it. No song. Or, maybe song, and I just record when she's not. I don't need to see her for that, right? Just can't be anything more, end of story. It's me, by myself, my team, no women. Better for the world this way.

@Rachel_Thomas @RobertDowneyJr @OfficialSting This still feels unreal. Thank you both for the incredible opportunity!

Her tweet is simple. Nothing too important. Don't think I should even bother answering. Should I like it?

Fuck it. 

I like it, and as soon as the little heart lights up red on the interaction, I catch myself with my lips tugged up again. Why the fuck am I smiling? Seriously?!

Yeah, she and I...need to cut ties.


	4. Chapter 4

"My father just put in a very...generous...donation," the red head in front of me states, and it's taking everything in my toned body to avoid flinching as she tucks a piece of paper in my hand upon shaking it.

"Wonderful," I smile stupidly back.

Meeting donors is definitely not something I've missed in the last few months. The events, yes. The fans trying to wiggle their way into my life, no.

"I'm willing to make my own..." she muses with a seductive tone, but it does nothing for me. "Off the record, of course."

"I'll...keep that in mind," I nod, holding her gaze steadily until she smirks and glances back to a table across the room where her friend are gossiping and giggling as she returns to them. 

The piece of paper is just crushed in my hand, and hold it in a ball until I have a way out to throw it away. I'm not in the mood for fan phone numbers right now. Like I've told Jim over and over again...I'm a bit turned off to fucking around at the moment.

"Any amount, you name it," she teases, then sways and twirls her hair in her fingers, biting her lip like a school girl.

And the school girl fantasy? Totally a kink. But not...now. 

So I hold my breath, not wanting to say more, and she probably takes it the wrong way, but thank God there's a mention of my name behind me and a hand on my shoulder to announce Jon's arrival into my circle. 

"Mr Downey, forgive us for not saying hello yet," he greets kindly, sensing I need a way out since I have no security team tonight. "Apologies for interrupting... Erin is requesting you by the stage."

Thank fucking Christ.

"I'll go find her, thank you," I dismiss myself, and then I'm hustling my fine ass over to the other side of the room, thankful to be escaping that disaster.

On the way, I toss the crumpled up piece of paper in my hand into the recycling bin and fix my tie, and then I'm greeting Rachel's aunt, and a smaller, petite woman next to her.

"Robert, hello!" she begins with a hug I'm forced in to. "This is Karina, our assistant, she'll be announcing you to take over," Erin explains as an older woman with long, faded blond hair joins at our side with a small smile.

I should've napped before this. I'm exhausted. But getting to drive the A4 for the first time in ages was a plus. I probably would've gone insane if I couldn't get out on my own. 

"I'm just glad we could work TCA into this so quickly," I decide to offer, trying to be positive.

In all honesty, I had nothing to do with this besides the idea behind the fundraiser. And the fundraisers...I was more into before all this court drama happened. PR handled the changes to let Erin and Jon co sponsor this, I just signed some papers. 

The world's been turned upside down recently, that's for sure. I miss enjoying these things I used to have my whole heart into. But that was before Iron Man. Before Sherlock. Before my name had all of these things attached to it that I can't fuck up. It's stressful.

"We'll be across the room," Jon points out, eyes on a couple in a black suit and gold dress who appear to be waving at them. "Er, looks like the Davison's want to say hello."

"Of course," the woman with red hair nods, then a hand touches my shoulder gently and there's a smile on her thin lips before she dismisses herself, as well, following her husband across the room.

"Mr Downey, big fan," this Karina girl starts when we're alone.

I clear my throat and blink a forced smile at her, and thank her. The usual public kindness and all that jazz.

"Thank you, appreciate it."

"This is your event," she reminds me. "So you tell me how you want to do this."

"However you feel comfortable," I shrug off. "I'm just here to show my face and encourage people to donate to a good cause."

That makes her brow furrow, taken aback by my bluntness. Oops. Maybe Jimmy should've come home to babysit me after all.

"Okay, so we'll just...I'll just ask the band to pause after this song and then I'll get you up on stage," she decides.

"Sounds good."

I mean, we're about half way through this thing, anyway. The silent auctions have already been underway for a while, and judging by the amount of couples checking out that table, I'd say we're doing pretty well. Besides...it's not even just people we sold tickets to for this thing. Though it might not be many of my friends, it's now gotten twice as big with Jon's guest list. 

After a moment of checking out who I haven't said hello to yet, the assistant returns, and with her, a microphone in hand.

"Ready?" she asks, to which I shove my hands in my pockets and nod, lips pressed so I don't say anything too stuck up.

I tune her out as she says hello and thanks for coming. It's quick and to the point, but my eyes are still on the guests mingling at their tables and the now still dance floor. This thing is far too formal for my taste, but it looks like we're successful so far, so I can't bitch.

"Mr Robert Downey Jr," interrupts my judgmental stares, so I clear my throat again - damn cigarettes fucking with my lungs - and plaster on a smile for the hundredth time tonight, accepting the mic from her hand as I hop on up to join her.

"Just a quick...something or other to say hello," I mumble when I've gathered control of the room, as it should be. "I just want to thank you for all of the...generous," I go with, despite not making it to the table to check out the accumulations yet, "donations. It really is much appreciated, and on behalf of Random Act Funding and myself...thank you. Now, uh, go get drunk, and...donate a little more money..."

It's not really supposed to be funny, but these people will laugh at anything, I guess. What the fuck is funny about donating money? I do it quite often. I don't need it, it's just me and Jim's bills, the team's salary...what else should I bother saving for? Last week, maybe child support, but hey, crossed that bridge. 

But someone who's not laughing?

Rachel. 

Rachel Thomas, in a sleek, shiny red dress, revealing curves I'm not sure I knew she had aside from the brief peek I got on the beach. Fucking Christ.

My eyes linger on her for a moment, but then she turns away after briefly catching my eye and blushing. She grabs two wine glasses, and my heart races. Two? Is Devin here, or does she have a date? She did say she was busy tonight... I didn't see a date. But I didn't see her until now, either.

Fuck, why the fuck do I care who she's here with?

Yet, my dumbass mind wanders a bit too far as I realize my mouth's now drier than it was before, so maybe...maybe a drink isn't a bad idea.

"Make kids happy," I rush out to wrap up that prolonged ending to the sentence I was on, and then I'm blindly handing the mic to Karina and stepping off as the band awkwardly starts playing again.

"Mr Downey," a guest tries to receive me as I walk through the room, but I wave him off with a muttered "I'm sorry, just one...second..."

And then I rush the rest of the way, because she's caught on that I'm focused on her, and she's trying to quickly grab both glasses to disappear again, but I'm not letting that happen. She turned down a party with me just to come with someone else to the same thing. Regardless of if her aunt and uncle are hosting it with me, we didn't talk about it when she was at the dinner table, so she definitely wasn't aware I'd be here. So what's more fun than going to a party with me? What's worth dressing up more?

And that's exactly what I ask to lead with. "Too good for a party, I thought?"

I can feel the eye roll but I don't see one. I just see her shoulders tense, bare thanks to the dress she's wearing, and then her body turns and she's still double fisting those wine glasses, knuckles white.

"Oh God... I'm so sorry, I didn't know, or-"

Her eyes flicker open again after her moment of self hate, and that's the first time I have a genuine smile on my lips tonight. Unintentional...but it happens.

"If I told you, would you have been more eager to come?" I wonder out loud, and catch her catching her breath as she takes in my appearance; this is the first time she's seen me dressed up like this.

"Maybe," she admits. "I'm just not one for these..."

"Oh, trust me," I agree rather quickly, "this is all thanks to Erin and Jon. My kind of party...isn't as tame."

My kind of party would have a better band. Bigger named guests. Party favors. 80s decorations. A dog, or two. Maybe a pool, a stripper poll, boos for everyone but myself...who knows.

I think she can sense that I'm craving a sip of that wine, but I wouldn't test myself. Not after the last few months of hell. If someone faking a pregnancy for publicity doesn't make you want to drink...I don't know what will. I'm surprised I'm still sober, to be honest.

Okay, so...make sure she still knows who she's playing with, here.

"I'm sorry, do you uh, want a camera to take a picture, or...?" 

Her cheeks redden and she tries to act bold, but I don't buy it. It's...it's cute.

Fuck.

"Is it hard to do that English accent?" she asks suddenly. "Like, did it take time to pick up or..."

So I tilts my head to the side, trying to figure out where her head's at. I'm standing here cursing myself for being attracted to this...this feigned strength, and she's...thinking about my upcoming move. Great.

Whatever. I'll just...push her one step further, I guess. Time to offer her a hand...

"How about a dance, madam?" he offers, watching as I open my own mouth and try to find words to answer.

That finally causes her to falter and for the first time since we've met, I've won. Yet I don't feel accomplished. Why don't I feel satisfied? She's the one who wanted to play this game.

"Oh, I don't know, that's probably not a good idea..." she tries softly, starting to panic. 

So before she can settle in to that panic, I set her glasses on the bar, and then steal her hand to pull her with me to where a few couples are dancing to the band in the center of the room. Yes, I'm aware there's going to be word about me picking a girl to dance with, but I just...don't care. It's just a dance. Nothing more.

She she holds her breath, I position her hands, then start to sway us to the slower song. And fucking hell...her figure is perfect. Her hips fit perfectly in my hands, and for a second I wonder what the fuck they'd feel like without this fabric between us, but...

No, stop.

"Relax," I instruct, more for myself than her, honestly.

She whispers through and uncomfortable smile as she exhales and glances away. "I'm trying."

"It's just a dance."

"God, are you always this in character?"

Okay, that one earns a laugh. This is...oddly like the fucking movie.

"Seriously, I can't tell if you're Robert or Tony right now!"

"Not doing it on purpose!" I swear, and before I can stop myself, I'm finding a reason to make her feel better. "Look, this is a charity thing. I'm the host... This is normal."

Why the fuck did I do that? 

"You usually dance with your guests?"

"No," I smirk again, trying to remain in character of my own miserable self to some effect. "But they know you by now. Or they should. Speaking of," I think out loud, remembering my discussion with Gordon the other day about recording. "We were talking, and-"

"We?" Her eyes dart up...finally...and they're fucking gorgeous.

Jesus Christ, Downey, get your shit together. You could've had your one night stand already, what's so different now? That other girl was offering anything. Rachel...Rachel hardly trusts you with her hands for this fucking dance.

"Sting, as you call him, and I... We're thinking of rerecording Every Breath You Take. He and I and...you."

And her tension finally dissipates, and she looks at my with the first bit of clarity I've seen in her hazel eyes since I've met her. She's glowing, not just from a blush, and she looks hopeful. And my heart is suddenly beating twice as fast as I realize I did good, here. She's not pissed at me, for once.

"That would be amazing," she whispers, breathless, and it nearly gives me chills.

Why the hell is her voice so appealing? Not even her singing voice, just...the way she talks. It's fascinating, and I no longer want to rush home from this thing. Not if I can keep her company.

A very long moment of silence goes by until I realize she doesn't know what to say. Neither do I, so I revert back to typical Downey.

"You're staring again," I point out, and fuck me, because she ducks her head again in shame and...we're right back where we started.

"Sorry... It's not every day you get to dance with Iron Man," she admits and we share a laugh that comes rather naturally. "And...I guess I'm nervous. You were right, I am a fan, and this is...so weird..."

No, fuck, don't say that! You weren't acting like a fan. Please don't start acting like one. You were starting to seem so per-

Shut up, Downey, I curse myself. What if you take her home, you two fuck, and then she pulls a stunt like Jessica or Jennifer or...whatever the fuck the potential baby mama's name was when you actually bought that shit? After all, that's all this can be. A one nighter, if I somehow get over that fear. So either she's nuts and you get fucked twice, or she'll get clingy and you'll hurt her and she's already too fragile for that.

"I don't usually do this kind of thing," I decide to give her truthful, yet proving the point that I'm me. "But for Gordon...he seems to be pretty good friends with your aunt."

"Apparently," she agrees slowly, but to my dismay, adds, "but to be more honest, I haven't gotten to spend much time with them in my life. Malibu's pretty new to me. Well, the whole west coast, really."

"You're not from here?" I counter immediately.

So...maybe I can take her back to my bedroom. But then what? Even if that's not the case, there goes recording.

"Pennsylvania. Land of nothing but hockey and football and lots of snow. Just on vacation here for a couple weeks."

"And no agents or talent scouts there," I say, stating the obvious.

She falters, and suddenly she's tense again. What did I say wrong? 

"Singing has kind of been a side thing, I guess. Did the wedding as a favor."

"So they used us both for our talents. How dare they!" It's an attempt to lighten the mood.

It works, for a moment, and I'm caught back with a smile as she laughs, the sound just as bright as her singing.

"Maybe you, but I've got no secret skills."

"What?" I gasp dramatically, as if Tony would. "I'm sorry, are we talking about the same person here?"

Even the roll of her eyes, this time visible, holds my focus. Part of me guesses this isn't the last time I'll see her rolls her eyes at me, either.

"You're a millionaire by now, I'm sure, and for good reason...I'm no one."

I can't help but narrow my eyes, wondering what the hell is inside her head right now. Why is she degrading herself? Does she realize she's currently...in fucking Los Angeles, with a movie star, about to be signed on for a major label single?

As I think, I find my thumb massaging her hand, then abruptly stop when it's obvious she was aware of it, as well. It's an old habit...something I used to do to calm Sarah down when we dated. Counter clockwise, small circles.

"It took a lot to get here," I go with, deciding...not to bring up an ex girlfriend right now. "In case you forgot...well, I'm sure you've seen the tabloids."

The way she presses her...very pink lips together confirms that much.

"This is sort of my own vacation while I move into this new house. Well, and the idea of a new album and all... Trust me, work always has me busy on a normal week."

"Good timing, I guess."

That's it? I'm trying to be chatty here. Trying to talk, and I don't know what the fuck to say anymore. First she's a fan. Then she hates me. Then she admits she's a fan again, and now she's...dismissive as hell.

"Hey, I may have come as a favor to them, but even if you're a fan...you're not really acting like one," I snap, temper flaring.

Damnit. I can't let my mood show publicly, but...God, is this woman irritating. Yet I can't just walk away.

"Sorry?" she asks, jaw dropped and she tries to stop our dancing, but I'm a bit stronger. "I'll try to fangirl a little harder..."

No need to cause a scene, as much as I love pissing her off. So I take a deep breath before responding.

"It's nice. A breath of fresh air."

"Well, I'm not going to stroke your ego, even if you look good in a suit," she tosses back, obviously unable to keep her own temper under control.

Don't snap back, Downey. Remember how NA told you to handle this shit...

"You are a feisty one, aren't you? Your temper matches your dress."

That really makes her eyes burn with anger, so I swallow my attitude and make sure to handle this situation before it escalates to a news story that PR won't be too fond of. Why isn't she as easy to walk away from like all of the women earlier?

"Which looks stunning on you, might I add," I try to compliment instead, softening my voice in hopes of it sounding more sincere.

She really does look beautiful. Her hair falls nicely, and she has hardly any makeup, but she's made sure her smooth, lightly tanned skin is shinning with youth. Fuck, just how old is she, anyway? Did I ever ask?

To my good luck, she's only playing my game as long as I keep it up. "You don't look half bad yourself."

And this is...the first time I have ever taken a compliment to actually mean anything. You know, they throw this shit around all the time. Asking who I'm wearing, wondering what my haircut currently is. Lord knows what happens if I don't remember to have Davy dye my damn hair... But Rachel...Rachel means it when she says it, and those eyes give it away.

Well, until their light dies because he friend is rushing to pull us apart and shove her fucking phone in between. She's attached to that thing, I swear to God. Even Jimmy isn't on our work phones this often, and I have a much bigger following.

Rachel seems just as confused and annoyed, though, and just tries to clarify with her friend. "You okay?" 

No answer comes. She just shows her the screen, and I assume it's a photo of us, or another Twitter account bashing her for talking to me because they're jealous...I've seen a lot of that, which is why I'm avoiding social media, too. Can't stand the drama. Selective fans...that's all they are. Most of them, anyway. Only happy when I do something they approve of that's convenient for them.

But that's a rant for another day. For now...I'm chilled by the way her friend Devin carefully speaks her words.

"Don't freak out, okay?" she requests.

Rachel gives her a look, then the phone a look, and then...that look never moves. She's frozen, something haunting her. Something very similar to her unannounced departure from dinner last night.

Something soft inside of me makes me act just like I did yesterday, and my hand steadies her in the small of her back, over the silky material. Do I say something? I don't want to push, but what the hell is this important?

"I had no idea he was still bothering you," Devin says. "It'll be okay. Okay? I'll tell him to go. You won't even have to leave the room."

The boyfriend? The same one as yesterday? 

"Rachel?" I question when I realize she has no plans to answer, and suddenly she jumps out of her skin, nearly falling over on her heels if I wasn't holding her upright already.

"Air," she whispers, "I need air. Just for a minute."

Devin nods, but I can sense a panic attack when I see one, and she doesn't seem to want Devin, otherwise she'd be able to steady herself with her around right now.

"I'll take her," I offer instead.

Devin looks at me, then back to Rachel, who shares a small nod with her, and then I'm grabbing her hand again and squeezing for good measure. Another thing I used to do for Sarah when she was nervous about a role, but it applies here, too.

"I'll just tell them your mom called..." her friend decides, glancing the way of her family on the other side of the room, but once there's a plan, I make sure no major media eyes are on us, and then I help her walk on her shaky legs out into the chilly fall air of downtown Los Angeles from a side exit. 

Something is really wrong. Not with Rachel, but with whatever is happening in her life. Something is tearing this girl apart from the inside out, and it's giving me something to worry about for the first time in a while. Something to care about, something to help. Someone to help. A reason to stop being miserable and start being Robert again, which I haven't had in a while.

But something evil has broken this girl, and now I'm too involved. She's stuck with me until I find out what or who it is.


End file.
